


The Long Peace

by cinalilli



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drama, Fantasy, Gen, Other, holytalia, idk lol, in progress, serious work, this is going to get an overhaul I SWEAR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinalilli/pseuds/cinalilli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The school may change, but human nature never changes. 31 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, a new round of First Years enter Hogwarts for the very first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beilschmidt Brothers

The cheery sound of the doorbell chimed throughout the house. 

 

The two Beilschmidt twins, as was their habit, both rushed to answer it. Usually, it was Gilbert, the more long-legged and athletic of the two, who reached it first. Other times, it was Otto Ludwig, by sheer virtue of a sharp ear and general proximity to the door. 

 

Imagine their surprise as their (abysmally slow) eldest brother beat them to it.

 

Roderich, the eldest of the three brothers, regarded the man at the door with a mask of passive disinterest, (which, realistically, was how he regarded  _ everything) _ . In this case though, there really  _ was  _ much to  _ be  _ regarded, he determined, trying not to gawk at the man’s...somewhat bizarre choice in clothing. (His tie was inside out? Did he even know how to tie a tie?) 

 

The man shifted awkwardly on the doorstep, hefting a rather large briefcase threatening to pull him over the edge of the doorway and into the roses below. (Pinstripe  _ and _ tweed? Really?) He muttered fervently to himself, pulling papers out of every conceivable pocket, (and then some...who even had  _ that many _ pockets?) eventually pulling out a notecard covered in scribbles, as he grinned in satisfaction.

 

(And that didn’t even address the fact that he was holding a slightly dazed, fully grown, owl underneath his left arm.)

 

“Can I help you...?” Roderich asked, skeptically.

 

“I do believe you’ve dropped this...” the man stammered, holding the owl out for Roderich to see.

 

Otto and Gilbert, from the window, covertly watched the exchange: eyes wide as they glanced at everything--from the owl, to the briefcase (was it  _ shaking _ ?), to the various pockets that seemed to appear and vanish, seemingly at will.

 

“Do we know you?” Roderich asked, raising an immaculately groomed eyebrow.

 

“Uh...” the man said, his eyes glazing over. His arms fell to his sides, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do. 

 

The gears in  _ his _ head, Roderich decided, were obviously having a slow day. 

 

“Ah, right!”

 

The man removed his pointed black hat (No comment.) and gave a sweeping bow. “My name is Jarvis Laurence Talbot, representative of the Ministry of Magic,” he said, replacing his hat. 

 

Roderich narrowed his eyes. (Magic? Perhaps he had misheard...) It all seemed very  _ rehearsed _ . Like a joke that the twins’d play.

 

“The Ministry of Magic.” Roderich repeated flatly. Mr. Talbot nodded excitedly, apparently thrilled to be understood.

 

“Yes, sir! Are you the father of...” he began, referencing his heavily notated flashcard, squinting. “...Otto Ludwig von...Beilschmidt and Gilbert Maria von Beilschmidt?”

 

“I am their legal guardian, yes.”

 

“Oh, goodie!” Talbot exclaimed, hurriedly shoving the cue-card back into one of the many tweed pockets. “Ah...Might I assume you have received a certain owl-delivered letter, or...” He looked down at the owl, now dozing haphazardly cradled under his arm. He let out a small “oh!” of surprise, removing a pair of envelopes loosely clamped in its beak.

 

“There we are!” Mr. Talbot proclaimed, handing the twin envelopes to Roderich with a flourish. “Two acceptance letters into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

 

Roderich regarded him a moment longer, the expression of confused disgust finally manifesting itself in his expression.

 

“I know of no applications to a ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’,” he replied coldly. “Frankly, the entire thing sounds made up. I don’t appreciate being lied to. Thank you for being a perfect  _ waste  _ of a Saturday morning.”

 

The door was slammed in Talbot’s face.

 

“S-Sir, you forgot the letters...” Talbot sputtered, springing towards the door. “Sir, allow me to explain! Oh my, I  _ do _ wish this was covered in the assessment...Mister Beilschmidt!”

 

The door cracked open, Roderich glaring through it.

 

“ _ It’s Edelstein _ .”

 

“Sorry, Mister Edelstein! Please, this is an excellent education opportunity for young Otto and Gilbert!”

 

“‘Excellent education opportunity’,” Roderich declared through, his anger reaching a crescendo with each distastefully spat word. “More like overly suspicious! ‘Witchcraft and Wizardry’, what sort of nonsense is that? And to a school I’ve never even  _ heard _ of, much less sent out applications for--”   
  


“You don’t apply for  _ Hogwarts _ ! Hogwarts applies for  _ you _ !” Mr. Talbot shot back in frustration. “It may seem absolutely ridiculous to you as a Muggle, but please, I am a trained professional! Hear me out!”

 

“ _ What _ did you just call me?”

 

Talbot dodged his question. “Have you even noticed anything...odd about your children?” he pressed.

 

“They’re my brothers.”

 

“Children, brothers, same level of stress. But things happening like they, ah, shouldn’t? Objects moving by themselves, animals mysteriously following them wherever they go, lights going out after you’ve just replaced them?”

 

Silence from the door.

 

Roderich allowed it to crack open (just a sliver) once again, his forehead balmy with drops of sweat.

 

“What do  _ you _ know about any of that?” he demanded.

 

“Those, Mr. Edelstein, were no series of uncorrelated coincidences,” Talbot said, holding up the two letters. “That is magic.”

 

“Just take the letters, Roddy!” Gilbert griped, perhaps a little too loudly. Roderich jumped, swivelling his head towards the direction of the twins, making the younger of the two wilt under his withering glare. 

 

Oops.

 

Sheepishly, Roderich obliged, keeping a wary eye on Mr. Talbot. Otto, jumping down from the couch, widened the gap in the door, gesturing for Talbot to come inside. 

 

Into the living room the four of them went. Otto and Gilbert snatched the letters from out of Roderich’s hands, leaving him to glare at Mr. Talbot.

 

“I take it that you’re one of those...Magicians, then?”

 

“Oh, you Muggles! Goodness no, my good man!  _ Magicians _ are the funny charlatans that hide rabbits in tables and saw each other in half.  _ Those _ are pure Muggle inventions. Rather clever, actually. No, the term that  _ we _ use is either ‘witch’ or ‘wizard’.”

 

“Muggle. What does that word even  _ mean _ ? I trust you aren’t...insulting me, sir?”

 

Mr. Talbot let out a laugh, tilting his head backwards heartily. “Pardon, I simply find it so incredibly  _ amusing _ \--! Muggles always seem to think we’re attacking them!”

 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“Ahem. Of course,” Mr. Talbot said, re-assuming his pseudo-businesslike disposition. “‘Muggle’ is simply the term to describe a non-magical person. The human kind, specifically.”

 

“This Hogwarts,” Roderich paused. “Did you go there?”

 

“Why, yes!” Talbot exclaimed, beaming. “I graduated three years ago! Class of 2011!”

 

“Hmm, yes, of course you did...” Roderich muttered. “Where exactly  _ is  _ this Hogwarts?”

 

“Its location is unmarked and warded to prevent unwelcome guests,” Talbot explained. “Makes it far safer that way. However, I would say it’s located somewhere in the Scottish highlands.”

 

“ _ Scotland _ ?” Roderich asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s...rather  _ far _ . Why should I bother sending my brothers to an unvisitable, foreign school for  _ magic _ of all things? What will they learn at this ‘Hogwarts’ that they won’t learn at a local,  _ credible _ school?”

 

“Magic, for one.”

 

Roderich crossed his arms, huffing. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

 

Talbot sighed, scratching his cheek in apprehension. “Well...it  _ did  _ warn in the manual that this was a possibility,” he murmured, stooping down to fiddle with the contents of his briefcase. 

 

Roderich watched in near abject horror as papers from every crevice of the attache fluttered out. One was folded like a paper crane, and seemed to flap its wings as it sailed out into the living room. Another appeared to have been soaked in some form of violet...juice. (It was all he could do to avoid lunging forward and preventing it from dripping on his precious carpet.)

 

“Um, Brüder? When can we open these?” Otto asked, holding up the greedily examined envelope. 

 

“When we see what this is all about,” Roderich growled, almost dazed at the sheer amount of  _ stuff  _ one could fit into a single briefcase.

 

(Roderich already knew that he wanted one.)

 

“Let’s see...” Mr. Talbot muttered, the pages of his apparent manuel fluttering in a whirlwind of dust and time-softened pages. “Ah! Here we are! Hm, yes, I can do that!”

 

From an inside pocket of his (terribly unfashionable, overly loose) tweed jacket, he retrieved a long stick, slightly crooked, but very smoothly polished. He held it out for the brothers to see, held gingerly, like a conductor’s baton.

 

“This,” he explained, “is a wand. It’s a generally accepted staple of at least, the European magical world, and, once one is properly instructed in the usage of it, the vast majority of Muggle inventions become redundant. Your brothers, Mr. Edelstein, have shown the proper amount of aptitude to be able to wield such a device. You ought to be proud! Ordinarily, the policy would be to send the boys to Beauxbatons due to your geographical location, but it seems Hogwarts has gotten to you first! It’s honestly an honor; my alma mater has over a millennium of service, you know.”

 

“The odd incidents,” Roderich realized, “That’s how you’ve chosen to explain them?”

 

“That  _ is  _ the explanation, I assure you.”

 

“Hmph. You probably aren’t lying, because at this point, you’ve been going to rather  _ great _ lengths to pull a practical joke.”

 

“Heavens no! That would be cruel! Shall I put your mind at ease, then?”

 

Roderich raised his hand dismissively. 

 

“...Okay, I’ll just...show you then.”

 

Mr. Talbot hopped to his feet, his wand raised. He pointed it at his briefcase, and said:

 

“ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ .”

 

Roderich’s eyes widened, and Otto and Gilbert looked excitedly from their older brother who was rubbing his eyes and wiping clear his glasses, as the briefcase that spun and danced about like a bird in the air.

 

“So  _ we _ can learn to do that?!” Otto exclaimed in wonder, staring at Mr. Talbot as he went on to make the flying briefcase perform tricks with a few other choice pieces of furniture, watching as it weaved in and out of a small cloud of papers.

 

“Oh, all that and more! This is simply a party trick in comparison to what you’d be  _ able _ to do! Even then, actual Wizarding party tricks are a good deal more...party trick-y. Believe me, there are  _ far _ more practical things to learn than making one’s luggage careen across a living room, but it serves well as a demonstration.”

 

“Hey Roddy, does this mean that we can open our letters now?” Gilbert asked, tossing aside the torn envelope with such vigor that Otto was certain for a moment that he had ripped the letter in half.

 

Roderich screamed in frustration, his head buried in his arms.

 

“Awesome! Thanks, Rod, you’re the best.”

 

Otto regarded the letter a moment longer with curiosity, fingering the wax seal, bearing what was most probably Hogwart’s emblem stamped into it. Carefully, he peeled the lip of the envelope off from the under the seal, gingerly pulling out the letter.

 

(Hm, parchment. That was a little weird.)

 

While Gilbert excitedly read his letter aloud, Otto followed along in his head to himself.

 

“Why  _ these _ animals?” Otto asked, creasing his brow. “A cat seems like a fairly standard pet, and owls are apparently used for delivery. But why  _ frogs? _ Why not  _ dogs? _ ”

 

Talbot scratched his cheek. “What’s wrong with frogs? They’re--”

 

“Pfft, who cares about frogs?” Gilbert said, cutting him off. “What’s with the Muggle stuff?”

 

Otto creased his brow, scanning the page. “What Muggle stuff?”

 

“ _Students will be expected to bring their own trunks, writing utensils, parchment, and additional sets of clothing for exercise purposes. STARTING THIS YEAR_ _students will be allowed to bring in Muggle-styles for each of these items and use them in classes._ _Additionally: Starting this year, it is MANDATORY for every student to have at least two sets of Muggle exercise clothing and a pair of sturdy Muggle running shoes._ ” Gilbert read. “I don’t get it. Why is this a thing?”

 

“I believe a good deal of it is for convenience. I mean, have you ever tried to write a five-paragraph essay on parchment paper? With a  _ quill _ ?” 

 

“Can’t say I have,” Otto replied. “But...it’s also the  _ twenty-first century. _ I don’t think  _ anyone _ has.”

 

“And yet, you’re reading a bona-fide document on parchment, drafted mere days ago! Wizards have been suffering the quill for  _ millennia _ . The real question is, why start  _ now? _ ”

 

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Gilbert said skeptically. “Why start now?”

 

“I’m  _ ever _ so glad you asked! I’m curious to find out, myself. I think it’s  _ wonderful _ that we’re learning a thing or two from our non-magical brethren.” Talbot said giddily, clapping his hands in excitement. “I’ve heard that this year they’ve added a Muggle physical activity program or two to the curriculum! It’s sure to be rather exciting, you kids are so lucky!”

 

“...So there’s sports? What’s the big deal?” Gilbert asked, pausing his reading.

 

“‘What’s the big deal’?! It’s a  _ huge  _ deal! A chance to run about, burn off extra energy, and build your physical stamina and strength is  _ crucial _ to so many professions in the wizarding community. We don’t give Muggles nearly enough credit for this particular idea."

 

"... Whatever you say, Mr. Talbot."

 

Otto reached the end of his letter and flipped the page over, stomach groaning internally as he beheld--yes, a dress code. (Screw that! Wasn’t a lifetime of Roderich’s outfit-micromanaging enough?) Mr. Talbot, who had taken to pacing about excitedly while they read their letters, patted his shoulder consolingly.

 

“Oh, it’s not nearly as bad as it sounds!” Mr. Talbot affirmed. "In fact, I'm convinced you'll rather like it by the end of the year."

 

He huffed. Mr. Talbot, in his usual jovial manner, clapped him on the back. “You’ll see, you’ll see! Nonetheless, you have a month and a half to decide if you wish to wait for Beauxbatons to send their letter to you or not. Whenever you’re ready to make a decision, take this owl and write a letter with your affirmation and tell it to go to Hogwarts.”

 

“It can find Hogwarts by itself?” Otto asked, head cocked. “I thought you said that it was warded or something.”

 

“It’s warded, yes, but first of all, this is a Hogwarts owl. He could fly his way home from any corner of the planet. Secondly, while ol’ Barnaby here may  _ look  _ like an ordinary Screech Owl, he  _ thinks _ much more like...say, a bloodhound or another breed of a Muggle dog. So long as he knows the recipient, he can find them through merits of senses alone. The specific logistics of it aren’t my field, actually. Who knows? Maybe you’ll learn why they can during your studies, someday.”

 

Otto, breathless, looked at Mr. Talbot in awe. (There was no question. He was going.) 

 

“Well! I do believe my business here is done, Beilschmidts and Edelstein! May we meet again!” Mr. Talbot exclaimed, raising his wand once more. “ _ Accio Briefcase! _ ” It came careening towards him, forcing the other occupants of the living room to duck. He caught it in his hand, but before it had the opportunity to topple him it over, he turned on his heel, and a loud noise (CRACK!) like a gunshot resonated throughout the household. 

 

He was gone.

 

“Good riddance,” Roderich muttered under his breath, before receiving a nudge to the ribs from Gilbert.

 

“Aw, shut it, Rod! This is amazing!”

 

“We’re going to a magic school!” Otto chimed in, giggling madly. “A  _ magic school _ ! With broomsticks, a-and witches, and wands, and potions, and a  _ magic school! _ ”

 

“I  _ know, _ right?! Hah, I  _ knew _ there was something weird about us! Who’da thunk it’d be  _ magic _ ?”

 

“Brüder,” Otto asked, turning to look at Roderich (who was sulking very decidedly on the couch) “How are we going to  _ get _ to Scotland?”

 

“I suppose that Talbot croney is going to come and take you from me at some point. We’ll see,” he replied darkly.

 

(What’s with him?) Otto mouthed. Gilbert shrugged, rolling his eyes.

 

“So you don’t mind if we go and write those ‘yes’ letters, then?” Gilbert asked, scooping up the exhausted owl.

 

“I believe the matter’s out of my hands, at this point.”

 

Otto looked sympathetically back at Roderich, who avoided his gaze. The boy sighed, and turned to follow his brother into the other room as they pulled out twin sheets of paper to scrawl out each of their answers.

 

Yes I want to go to the Hogwarts. 

-Gilbert Maria von Beilschmidt

 

I formally accept the invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Have a nice day!! :)

-Otto Ludwig von Beilschmidt


	2. Chapter 2: August 1st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight Caps Warning for this Chapter! Read at your own digression!

Chapter 2 - August 1st

The day rolled around after nearly a month of baited breath and furious anticipation.

Two suitcases, packed fit to burst, had laid in a corner for days on end, itching to roll out. The doorbell chimed again, as it was liable to do lately. Mr. Talbot dropped by every couple of days, each time with more information about their upcoming trip to wizarding London.

The plan was to spend the day travelling, (using a Muggle train, which was, according to , mostly due to their luggage) then spend the remainder of August in a place called "Diagon Alley", purchasing all the supplies that were otherwise inaccessible.

Dressed to the teeth and freshly showered, (Roderich had insisted!) the twins made a mad dash for the door, backpacks slung over shoulders, and suitcases in tow.

"Hallo, Herr Talbot!" Otto exclaimed, cutting off his brother, who had opened his mouth to say the very same thing.

"Hello, boys!" he replied, grinning. "Are you two ready to go?"

Gilbert nodded vigorously, a grin plastered from ear to ear. Taking his luggage by the handle, he bolted out the door, practically flying as he bounded down the steps.

"Wait!" Roderich shouted, the sight of the boy rushing out the door catching in the corner of his eye. The eldest brother skidded to the doorway from the kitchen, a hot pan of eggs in one hand, spatula in another. "Gilbert, you didn't eat your eggs!"

"I'm too excited to eat!" Gilbert declared, well out of view, by then.

Roderich sighed in defeat (as he was prone to do) and shook his head in annoyance.

Otto, moved to sympathy, left his luggage at the door, and dashed back into the house. "I'll be back in a sec!" he told Mr. Talbot.

Roderich stood at the sink, poised to scrape the uneaten, steaming hot, omelette into the frothy water. "Stupid Gilbert and his stupid picky appetite. 'Too excited to eat', ha!" he muttered under his breath. "Not willing to eat my food, is what he is...'

"Hold on for a sec, Brüder!" he said, running to his side. Roderich looked up, slightly startled. "I'll put the eggs in a container, or something, for the road. Despite what he says now, he's probably starving."

Roderich looked gratefully back and him, smiling. Otto returned with a small plastic container, saving the impeccably cooked omelette from a watery grave.

The younger brother wrapped his arms around Roderich's waist and squeezed him tightly, pressing his pudgy little eleven-year-old face into his brother's, equally pudgy, stomach.

"Don't worry, Brüder," Otto said, looking up at him eagerly. "We won't be gone long, and we can come back for Christmas and Easter, a-and I'll make sure we both write lots of letters to you every single week! Those nice owls can take them for us! Lots and lots! And you can write letters too, any time you want to!"

"I...thanks, Otto. I really appreciate the thought," Roderich said, smiling and smoothing his brother's blonde hair appreciatively. "It will be strange, though, being home alone without my brothers. I'll miss you boys."

"Mr. Otto?" came Mr. Talbot's voice from the outside of the house. "I'd hate to interrupt, but I simply must point out that we should be leaving. We don't want to miss our train, now, would we?"

Otto nodded in agreement, looking back at Roderich once more before sprinting out the door, box under his arm and suitcase by the handle once more. He waved, bidding Roderich goodbye, before closing the door, sprinting to join his brother.

"Stay safe," Roderich whispered, belatedly, as he stared at the closed door in Otto's wake.

The trio piled into Mr. Talbot's rented car, the luggage all deposited haphazardly in the car's trunk.

"Everyone comfy?"

With a click of his seatbelt, Otto nodded, murmuring his assent.

"Hey, Talbot?" Gilbert asked, (Where was the 'mister'?! Honestly, Gil could be so rude sometimes!) "Why are we, uh, driving to London? Isn't there a more...magic-y way to go?"

"Sure, I guess. But the main reason here is because Muggles are not to know about the existence of wizards. It's...legally frowned upon, and I avoid antagonizing those who keep me employed, as a general rule. Besides," he added, turning a page in his manuel with one hand, fishing for the keys to the car with another. "There's a whole mess of dumb procedures to undo that kind of damage. They rule out Portkeys and Apparition, for the most part."

"Portkeys?" "Apparition?" Otto and Gilbert both asked, accidentally synching up. (Not again!)

Mr. Talbot, snapping his manuel closed, continued to fiddle with the keys and then ignition. The key slipped into the hole, and it turned into place, causing the car to vibrate with an almost excited hum. "It worked! Twenty points to Jarvis!" he muttered to himself, placing his hands on the steering wheel. "I can do this, I can do this...I think."

"Um, Herr Talbot?"

Talbot slammed his foot on the gas pedal and the car rocketed forward, narrowly avoiding ramming into a light.

"Don't worry! Don't worry! I've got this, don't worry!"

(Otto was less inclined to believe him on this.)

Talbot pressed the gas pedal again (gently this time) and the car began to move again at a manageable rate. Nonetheless, Otto's heartrate refused to restabilize. (It probably didn't trust that it would be the last time that Talbot would, unintentionally, threaten to kill him, via collision.)

"Uh, so, what're Portkeys?" Gilbert asked again, peeling his face off the car window.

"Ahem. Sorry! Portkeys are objects that, when touched, teleport the user to a certain location."

"Why didn't we use something like that?"

"Well, um...Portkeys don't...function very well in urban locations."

"And that's because...?"

Talbot yanked the steering wheel to the side, roughly rubbing up onto the pavement. Gilbert and Otto yelped, the rocking of the car hurling them from one side to the other.

"PORTKEYS LOOK LIKE MUGGLE TRASH!" Talbot responded, raising his voice above the din of the twins screaming, (naturally) in fear, for their lives. "IN THE COUNTRYSIDE, NO ONE PAYS A BIT OF LITTER ANY MIND, BUT IN THE CITY, WE'D HAVE MUGGLES TELEPORTING EVERY TIME THEY TRIED TO PERFORM THEIR CIVIC DUTY!"

To prove his point, he nearly leveled a trashcan, as the wheels crept up onto the curb again. (How had they avoided attracting the attention of every policeman in Berlin?!)

Regaining his wits, Otto then asked, "Then what's apparition?"

"You know that loud noise I make when I do the disappear-y thing?"

"Yeah...?"

"That's Disapparation. When I arrive, I apparate," he explained, briefly turning his attention away from the road to consult his driving manuel. (!) "It's a more personal method of teleportation, and I suppose I could have taken you along...but..."

"But that sounds cool though!" Gilbert pointed out, "And basically anything would be better than this-"

Mr. Talbot jerked about the steering wheel, skirting around a tree growing on one of the divides in the road, cutting the boy off. Gilbert, wheezing, slammed into Otto who pushed the air out of his lungs like a sad, deflated balloon.

"If you boys think this is bad, I can guarantee that Side-Along Apparition is a downright terrible idea for you, just saying. I don't want to be responsible for the inevitable crippling nausea and missing body-parts, either."

"BODY PARTS?!"

"What, you don't think dematerializing and rematerializing from one end of the continent to another doesn't come with some consequences? General rule is, 'if you're not attached to your parts, they won't be attached to you!' That's what my old man taught me, anyway. Nonetheless, it's definitely not for beginners. Ah! We're here!"

And so they were. Otto and Gilbert dove out of the car, nearly sprinting towards the station without their luggage the first time. With a bit of a reprimand ("Be more careful next time! You don't want to leave something like your luggage behind!") and with their backpacks on their shoulders and their suitcase-handles in hand, they continued towards the station.

"It's been awhile since I've ridden a train," Talbot remarked, as they waited for the train to depart. "I haven't ridden one since I graduated."

"Why?" asked Otto, kicking his legs on the seat. "Was it just easier to apparate everywhere?"

"Partially," Talbot said. "But in general, I guess it just feels...weird. It must be because I associate trains with school so much. It's odd, being a fully-fledged adult."

For the first time, of all the weeks that Mr. Talbot had come to visit, Otto looked at him not as the quirky, occasionally confident adult, but as little more than an overgrown child.

It was unsettling. He dismissed the image immediately.

The train lurched forward just as Gilbert plopped down onto the seat beside him ("Here we gooo!" he'd hollered, earning some looks from the other passengers), leaving the station just as the sun peeked over the mountains.

The landscape blurred comfortably, and for the first time in nearly an hour, Otto felt wholly at rest. As he reclined in the train's padded seat, he could feel his eyes shut and his consciousness drifted off, swept away into the blur of mountains and forest, lake and sky.

It was night time by the time the train arrived in the London station. Otto could feel it, the train's lull, the stall, the stop.

"Hey, Ottertot, we're here!" Gilbert said excitedly, rousing him.

"I'm up, I'm up," Otto replied, yawning and blearily blinking his eyes. He stretched, watching as Gilbert dashed over to the other side of the aisle, snapping his fingers under Talbot's nose, who awoke with a start, sputtering slightly.

The rest of the evening was a blur, most of the excitement spend and boiled down over the duration of the trip.

With what little energy they had left, they stumbled throughout London. (Mr. Talbot being much more useful, as he knew his way around his native city in impressive detail.) Lamppost after lamppost they passed, passing buildings until the landscape became little more than a dark, familiar blur. ("We're almost there!" he'd insisted on many an occasion.)

"Turn around here, we're almost there!" he'd said.

They complied, turning around on the spot. (Otto was beginning to redact his previous confidence in Talbot's ability. It may have been a little too generous in the man's favor...)

They walked. Up and down the same street, they continued to walk, (Mr. Talbot knew it ran in a circle...right?) passing the same stretch of shops over, and over, and over again on Charing Cross Road. ("We get it, Talbot, you like this street, ok?")

The trio walked past what seemed to be the exact same series of buildings, exhaustion beginning to wear down their patience even further. However, this time, while Mr. Talbot continued to soldier on cheerfully, the twin stood in a perplexed stupor, blearily gaping at the array of buildings. There was something...terribly off-putting about it...

"Try to keep up, boys! This bit's rather important!" Mr. Talbot said, marching towards...the alley?

No, not an alley.

That was a pub.

The twins were shocked to realize that they had somehow missed an entire building. It was odd, to say the least.

"The Leaky Cauldron" Otto read, scanning the bolted wooden sign, swinging a little dolefully in the slight night breeze as they entered the inn and pub.

"Two bedrooms, one for one night, the other for thirty. I owled in earlier with the reservation and payments; it should be under 'Jarvis Talbot'."

"Yes, yes, Jarvis," the receptionist said, swirling a cup of coffee, exhaustion painted over her face. "I'll have you know that my Neville and I had quite the experience returning the...how many was it?"

"Twenty-three," he said with pride.

"Yes, the twenty-three owls that you 'rented', Those were fun to return, though. We had a bit of a field day, writing letters back," she said, taking a sip of her coffee with a warm chuckle.

"Really, Mrs. Longbottom, I hope that didn't upset you too much? It was just supposed to be a juvenile prank and-"

She waved, cutting him off. "Jarvis, how long have you been coming in here?"

"S-Since I was eleven, Mrs. Longbottom?"

"Oh, even before that! Jarvis, point is, is I know you and what to expect from you, most of the time at least. Every once in while you pull one out of left field," she laughed. "So, no, you haven't upset me."

Talbot relaxed, putting his fidgeting hands away from his pockets and to his sides once more.

"Anyways, who's the second room for? I'm guessing that you're not the one staying here for a month."

"No, no! This year, I've been assigned to watch out for Otto and Gilbert Beilschmidt, from Germany! Come forward boys!"

Otto and Gilbert complied, entirely too tired to disagree.

"Otto and Gilbert, Mrs. Hannah Longbottom! Her husband, Professor Longbottom, will be your Herbology Professor!"

Gilbert gave a weak thumbs-up. "That's great..." he said, through a yawn, He shifted to avoid having the weight of Otto's tired head press into his, equally-tired, shoulder.

"...I'm guessing that introductions are out of the cards for today, Jarvis," Mrs. Longbottom said, handing him the keys to their rooms, rolling up the register. "Rooms are that way, boys. Jarvis here, has provided for all your meals. Should I assume you'll be awake in time for breakfast? It's at eight."

Otto nodded. "Breakfast at eight, noted."

She smiled sipping her coffee again. "Have a good night, boys."

Hefting their luggages for what was hopefully the last time that night, Otto and Gilbert trudged up the stairs and entered their hotel room.

And it was quite the room too, spacious, well-decorated, and well-furnished. (Meaning it had a bed, which was about all that the twins cared about at the moment.) Without even stopping to retrieve their bedding or change into their pajamas, the boys were under the covers and asleep, before even wishing the other good night.

Despite how tired he was (or even, because he was so tired), Gilbert couldn't seem to sleep.

It was rather cruel, really.

There was simply too much to see, too much to explore! He and Otto were finally in this new world of magic, (of all things!) and he was expected to sleep through it?

Not a chance!

Still, he didn't want to wake his brother. And it wasn't like he really was going to go far; he probably couldn't even leave the pub, realistically. Nonetheless, if he didn't go and look around, then he was certain that his curiosity would eat him alive.

Gilbert tiptoed to the door, limbs shaking with even more adrenaline as his hands gripped the cold metal handle. Out into the hallway he stepped, acutely aware of the well-worn carpet under his bare feet.

For an hour of night that (by Gilbert's estimates) seemed to be past midnight, the pub was surprisingly active. It kept its sedated atmosphere (so it wasn't as busy as it probably should be), but it an impressive amount of chatter considering the time of day nonetheless.

From the corner of the staircase where he watched the wizards, actual real life wizards, (unlike that Talbot guy) play poker together, downing mug after mug of some kind of bubbly, golden beverage. (As an afterthought, it was probably just ordinary beer, but for the moment, Gilbert tried to think of it as "magical wizard beer!")

"Hey, kid!"

Gilbert felt himself jump instinctively, ducking further up into the staircase.

"Aw, don' be like that!" C'mon out!"

Tentatively, Gilbert looked back out at the pub. (Stranger danger!)

He wasn't quite sure how it happened, nor why he did it. All he knew was he had to go and talk to that perfect stranger as much as possible.

Gilbert turned his eyes, glancing at Mrs. Longbottom, who raised an eyebrow but otherwise shrugged and turned back to monitoring the doorway.

Welp. No real help there.

He turned nervously back to the man, pointing at himself in confusion.

"Yes, you!" the man said, scooting out a chair and patting it. His friends looked from him to Gilbert, knitting their brows in confusion. "What's your name, kid?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"It's two in the ruddy am. It should be absolutely apparent that I am not in control of my faculties, like, at all."

On closer inspection, he wasn't really a man. He was more of an overgrown teenager, maybe about fourteen (and, as previously stated, pretty big for his age!) He wore his red hair scruffy, like it'd never been threatened with a comb for the entirety of his existence. Given how curly it was, that was probably a good thing.

"Smooth, Alistar," one of his companions said, idly holding a hand of cards. He placed one down onto the table, causing the boy across from him to run his hands through his long (similarly red) hair in despair. "That'll get him to stay around."

Alistair, without turning away from Gilbert, poured the remainder of the flagon of (beer?) onto his companion's blonde head in response.

He spluttered, jumping as the liquid trickled down his neck and into his shirt. "ACK! Ugh, Al, was that really necessarily?!" he complained, foolishly setting his hand of cards down on the table (The boy across from him snuck a peek while he wasn't looking.) Taking a fistful of napkins, he attempted to pat the sticky-looking substance out of his hair. "What was that for?!"

"It's what little brothers get for being obnoxious gits, Arthur," Alistair said simply, dropping the now-empty flagon onto the table. (Gilbert could sense that Mrs. Longbottom wouldn't be entirely too happy about the lack of respect for the tables.) "Besides, it had been flat for ages. I didn't feel the need to keep making myself continue suffering."

Arthur growled, but was otherwise powerless to change the situation. He opted instead to turn back to his cards, causing Alistair to smirk a bit.

"So your name is Alistair then?"

Alistair nodded, leaning back in his pub-chair. "Alistair Kirkland, oldest Kirkland brother. These are the rest of the twerps: Arthur here, whose hair just got washed for the first time in months," (At this, Arthur opted to not respond, and instead decided to flip him off with his free hand.) "Thank you, Arthur. 'E's the youngest. The one losin' to him at Uno's named Patrick, but we just call him Paddy. Last but not least, the one who should really be sleeping upstairs and not at the table's Dylan."

Patrick flushed, and begrudgingly drew four cards, then cursing when none of them were playable.

"S-So!" Gilbert asked, striking what he considered to be a "cool pose", "Are you guys wizards...?"

"Yeah, we are," Patrick responded despondently, playing a rather impressive series of cards (ending with a loudly cursing Arthur and a single card for himself).

"I take it by your question that you're Muggleborn or something...?" Alistair asked, gathering the empty flagons of (beer?) onto a platter. "That's the kind of question only a Muggleborn would ask."

"...Not that there's anything inherently wrong about being Muggleborn!" Arthur stammered, noticing Gilbert's face, flushed red in embarrassment. "It's just a little funny how obvious of a question it is."

"Here, you want us to deal you in?" Patrick asked, shuffling the Uno deck. "Alistair's in time-out for cheating too much, and playing with two is a little boring."

"Sure!" Gilbert said, happily accepting his hand. (It was a little nice having something familiar, sometimes.) "Mind if I keep asking questions?"

"Not at all."

"So, Hogwarts? What's it like?" Gilbert asked, placing down a card.

Arthur scratched his cheek, looked at his hand in frustration, and drew card after card out of the deck, muttering incessantly. "I don't know yet, personally. I'm to be a first year there, this year."

"I'm a second year," Patrick volunteered, smirking slightly as he reversed the order of play. Arthur swore again, drawing yet more cards from the deck. "Alistair's to be a third year, and Dylan'll be ready by next year or so."

Alistair nudged Patrick, looking meaningfully at Gilbert. "Tell 'im about the Houses, Pat."

"Oi, why don't you do it? I'm trying to figure out what to play."

"Jeez, fine, then I'll do it," Alistair said, accepting the new tray of drinks from a waitress (giving her some coins in return. What were those?) "At Hogwarts, rather than classes or whatever it is Muggles use, we get divided into Houses based off of certain personality traits and stuff."

"How do you get chosen?" Gilbert asked, shaking his head vehemently when Alistair offered him a freshly filled flagon of (beer?).

"No one's entirely sure," Patrick responded, playing a skip card and thus nullifying Arthur's turn. (Who, by now, had roughly half the deck in his hand.) "It has something to do with your personality, I've heard. The brave ones get Gryffindor, the hard-working ones get Hufflepuff, the best ones get Ravenclaw, for more information, see yours truly! and the evil ones get Slytherin."

"Hey!" Alistair said, removing the flagon of (beer?) from his lips in indignation. "That's an untrue stereotype, and you know it! And I think we all know that he's clearly lying by which House is objectively better, by the way."

"He means his House," Arthur said, looking over his cards in despair. "That's all he talks about at home anymore."

"Slytherin," Alistair continued, acting as if his brother hadn't spoken. "is the house of the wily, the ambitious! It's a house of leaders, who are willing to do anything to succeed! And I think it's pretty clear," he said, putting a hand on his chest in pride, "that I'm a born leader!"

"But how do you get into each house? Do you get to choose, or do you have to take a test or something?" Gilbert asked, putting down a draw four card. "Red and Uno, by the way."

Alistair and Patrick looked at each other, each clearly thinking what the other was.

"Honestly, I don't think we should spoil the surprise. It's a bit of a doozy."

Gilbert sighed heavily, placing his last card on top of the discard pile. "That's what I've been told all month, though!" he complained, sinking his face slightly into his hands.

"Hey, take it from me," Patrick said consolingly, patting his shoulder. "It's worth it. You can't just get the answers from everybody, you know. This is one-a those things that y'just need to find out for yourself."

"...If you say so, I guess."

"By the way," Arthur said, setting down his cards. "We never really got your name."

"It's Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt!"

"Nice to meet you, Gilbert," Patrick said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the Wizarding World!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so another chapter ends! Lots of spotlight on Gilbert this time around, hope that was as enjoyable to read as it was to write. :P
> 
> Next chapter will involve more Otto and Feli, I promise.
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews, they're always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3 - Sorry I Ran You Over!

#  **Chapter 3 - Sorry I Ran You Over!**

“It doesn’t make sense,” Otto said, cocking his head. “Why are two-thirds of your dishes some variation of ‘Leaky House Soup’?”

“Hm? Oh,  _ that _ ?” Mrs. Longbottom said, cocking her head. “I don’t really know. The menu was just...like that when I became owner, I suppose.”

“Why are they all different prices?” he added. “They’re literally just  _ soup _ .”

“No one actually orders them. It’s the name, I suppose.”

“I dunno,” Otto said, sniggering. “I’d order ‘Soup, Soup, Soup’ anyday!”

“Glad to hear you say that!” Mrs. Longbottom said, smiling. “We  _ do _ have waffles, if you want them,  though.”

“But--” Otto sputtered playfully. “It’s not on the  _ menu _ !”

“Hey, if I can make it, you can order it!” she said with a wink. “And if you can order it, you can also  _ pay  _ for it, too. Gotta make a living around here, after all.”

Otto grumbled a little bit, trying to play the part of “disgruntled customer”. He fished out the little bag of spending money Mr. Talbot had given him that morning, and counted out three Sickles. 

“An order of ‘House Soup Leaky’,” he whispered, leaning over the counter and sliding the money to Mrs. Longbottom. She accepted it, a mischievous look on her face. Otto lowered his voice to just above a breath. “Could you put peanut butter and whipped cream on that?”

“Anything you want, luv.”

“Thanks.”

She stepped away from the counter, scribbling his order onto a pad of paper. She folded it into a paper airplane, and threw it across inn!

The airplane soared over the tables and the heads of the eating customers (It did a barrell roll!) and zipped into the window to the kitchen, unfolding itself and landing neatly onto the order rack.

“I...don’t do that trick when Muggles are in the shop,” Mrs. Longbottom explained, blushing slightly. “It’ll only be a moment.”

With that, she excused herself, abandoning her post at the register and entered the kitchen.

Otto waited.

And waited.

After about five minutes, he tired of waiting.

He looked around for Gilbert, but as expected, he was nowhere to be seen. This morning, he’d evidently made a couple of friends and had notified Mr. Talbot that they were heading out to Diagon Alley early.

This had meant he’d left Otto behind, still asleep in bed.

It wasn’t fun, as one might expect, to feel abandoned.

That didn’t matter! He didn’t  _ need _ Gilbert to have a good time! He could learn about the Wizarding World and get his supplies and go to Hogwarts and do his homework ALL. BY. HIMSELF.

He waited angrily (and hungrily) for his waffles to get done, finding an empty table for himself. Seething, he pulled out a book, and began to read.

Talbot had given it to him. (“To help ease the transition into the Wizarding World!”) Mostly though, Otto had needed something to ease the sense of boredom, should it come.

Luckily boredom was easily staved off.  _ Which Owl? _ by Miranda Goshawk was an absolutely  _ thrilling _ read. No, really. It was quite fascinating. He could feel himself already starting to gravitate towards a Barn Owl. They were simply so  _ cool _ , and  _ elegant  _ in their own right!

He shook himself. (No. Anger! It’s time to be mad at Gil, remember?)

But the  _ owls _ \--

(No buts!)

He sighed, closing the book and twiddled his thumbs, trying to work himself back up to it. Gilbert was a traitor! He left him all alone! He--

“Here’s your order of ‘House Soup Leaky’!” Mrs. Longbottom said, derailing his train of thought. Otto looked back up at her gratefully, accepting the hot plate of waffles.

As he dug his fork into the stack of waffles, he decided to stop being angry. Gilbert had his reasons, and...

Otto took a bite, opening up his book as he chewed methodically. (Ever so careful to avoid dripping on the pages.)

He knew that they wouldn’t be together forever, inseparable like they were as children. Indistinguishable, even though Gilbert’s almost-white platinum blonde hair made it hard for Otto to justify  _ that _ particular claim. 

They’d always be brothers, but...Gilbert wasn’t  _ obligated  _ to hang out with him all the time. He was his own person.

He sighed, closing his book. Apparently, no reading was getting done anytime soon.

He took another bite of waffle, scraping the remaining drips of peanut butter and whipped cream off of the plate, and leaving a small pile of Knuts by the plate as a tip. (According to Mr. Talbot, that was about what twenty percent of three Sickles was. A bit of a pittance, really.)

Otto, scooping up his book and his backpack, walked across the dining room? (Was it a dining room?) to where Mr. Talbot was polishing off his eggs and bacon. 

“Ah, Otto! Are you ready to head out down to Diagon Alley?”

“Yes, Herr Talbot. Gilbert won’t be joining us, by the way.”

“Yes, yes. I heard. I sent him off ahead with his allowance, already.”

“Then...” Otto said, shifting slightly, clutching his book tighter. “Can we go now?”

Mr. Talbot held up a finger, swallowing the last bite of runny egg. (Sheesh, the man couldn’t do  _ anything _ neatly, could he?) “There! Now I’m ready! Let’s be off!”

He and Otto marched through to the back of the pub. There was a trash bin, Otto noted. So far, rather impressive.

“Watch carefully, as I won’t repeat it again,” Mr. Talbot said, pulling out his wand. He tapped it on the bricks, after a sort of counterclockwise fashion. 

Once Mr. Talbot removed his wand from the brick wall, Otto watched in wonder (who wouldn’t? The wonders of the magical world never  _ cease _ to amaze him!) as the bricks drew in on themselves, pulling apart to reveal a doorway.

At this point, there could be no holding back.

Otto barrelled into the crowd like a bullet leaving a gun, giving poor Mr. Talbot no hope to catch up. He threaded through crowds, trying to take in every sight  _ possible _ , all at once.

He needed this. How had he lived without this? He didn’t blame Gilbert for wanting to leave early,  _ almost _ .

All around him, he could hear the snippets of conversations, causing him to stop for a second as he absorbed the world around him.

“--have you  _ seen  _ the Nimbus’s new line of broomsticks? The Zephyr looks  _ really _ fast--”

“--Mum, we needed a  _ pewter _ cauldron! Honestly, why do I even let you do the shopping--”

“--want to get some ice cream after this? I hear some bloke’s reopened Fortescue’s--”

“--Look out!”

Before he had time to react, a cart rammed into him, nearly running him over. Otto let out a huff of air, the breath suddenly pushing out of him, and left him dazed and winded. The driver stopped in shock, running to his side.

Otto’s face scrunched up, trying to block out the twinge of pain from his side. Scheisse! That smarted, ow!

“Oh mio Dio, are you alright?!” they said, shaking him frantically. “Oh, no, I’ve killed him! I’ve killed him I’ve killed him I’ve--”

Otto laid stunned. Why were they freaking out so much? Did someone die? Who did they kill? What was going on?

The owner of the cart was bent over him, breathing dangerously near to the point of hyperventilation, trying to jostle him to his feet.

It clicked. 

(Ahh, so  _ that  _ was what was going on!) 

“I-It’s alright!” Otto sputtered, putting up his hands. “I’m fine, see?”

“That doesn’t fix things! I-I--” they said, a few tears coming to their eyes, causing Otto to come to his knees in alarm. “I still hit you--”

“Woah, uh, don't cry!” he yelped in shock. “Really, I'm fine, I'm fine!”

They shuddered, wrapping their arms around their chest. (Was that their way of calming themself down?) Otto stooped down and scooped up an armful of books and handed it to them, who still was breathing heavily.

“It’s okay, I promise!” he said, awkwardly patting their shoulder. “I’m not even hurt, don’t worry!”

“Really?” they asked, sniffling slightly.

“Really.”

Otto stood up, offering his hand. “You sure you're okay?”

They accepted it, pulling themself to their feet. They smiled, clearing their eyes. “I'm okay.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. The last thing  _ he _ wanted to do was freak them out again.

Otto smiled. “No problem. I’m Otto, by the way. Otto Beilschmidt. How are you called...sorry, what’s your name?” He chuckled awkwardly, the corners of his mouth twisting up into an uncomfortable grin.

“Is English not a first language for you, too?” they asked, cocking their head. 

He nodded. “It is. What is your first language?”

“Mine’s Italian. And you?”

“German,” he replied, grateful that this particular conversation was progressing without a hitch. (One of the lucky few, it seemed.) “I...never actually caught your name, though.”

“I’m Feli,” they said, pushing a lock of auburn hair behind their ear. “Short for Feliciano Vargas, but I’d rather just go by Feli.”

“Well then, it’s nice to meet you, Feli!” Otto said, the hand clutching his backpack strap tightening excitedly. “What brings you to--what's this place called again?”

“I think it’s called Diagon Alley?”

“Yes! Diagon Alley! What brings you here?”

“The same as you, probably. Are you here for school supplies too?”

“Yeah, but the problem is, is I actually have  _ no _ idea where to go,” he said, shrugging, pulling the supply list out of his pocket. “I’m kinda new to this entire ‘magic’ thing.”

They giggled, pulling out an identical list. “That’s fine! I’m really new to this country myself. England, I mean! I’ve never actually  _ been _ here before.”

Otto nodded sympathetically, “I know the feeling. Hey, since we’re both equally confused...” He trailed off, looking at them meaningfully.

They took his social cue. “You want to go together?”

“Sure! Yes, let’s go!”

The two of them walked down the street, scouring the landscape for a place to begin.

"Should we go get our robes first?" Otto asked, looking at the first couple items on his list, and picking one at random.  Feli nodded, reaching into their own bag.

“I know I put it somewhere,” they muttered, their hand rummaging around in their bag. “Voila!” They withdrew a map. It looked pretty old! (He'd always loved studying old maps!) They unfurled it, holding it close as they examined it.

“We have three choices,” Feli decided, rolling the map back up. “Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, which is a  _ mouthful _ , in my opinion! Then, there’s Second-Hand Robes, which is bound to be fairly cheaper, and Twilfitt and Tattings. Mi fratello said it was the best store for a ‘proper’ Italian, so I’d better check it out, too.”

Otto nodded, wrinkling his nose slightly at the thought of uniforms, but didn’t comment.

“So, which way then?”

* * *

 

“Muggle sports, huh?” Feli asked rhetorically, examining a pair of running shorts in their hands. “What’re  _ those _ about?”

“I don’t know,” Otto admitted, admiring his reflection as he turned, sporting one of the work robes. “I never played them much, but my old brother Gilbert did. Quite a bit, actually.” It was true. He grimaced slightly, memories of getting hit in the face multiple times with various pieces of sporting equipment. If that  _ truly _ was a requirement at the school, he was in trouble. “I don’t care for them myself. Never really seen the appeal. Why, what’s the issue?”

“Well...” Feli began, reddening slightly. “Wizards don’t really  _ play _ Muggle sports. In fact, I’m not even sure if we  _ have _ very many sports--”

“Really?” Otto exclaimed, nearly dropping the wadded-up robe in shock. “As in, at  _ all at all _ ?!”

“Th-That’s what I just said, wasn’t it?”

“You’ve never heard of  _ any  _ sports? What about football? _The_ _ Olympics _ ?!”

“...No...” Feli replied sheepishly, a worried light filling their eyes. 

“Wow,” he breathed, absently picking up a pair of tennis shoes, turning them over in his hands. Sure, he couldn't care less about sports most of the time. He’d never played any, and only ever went to games to give Gil moral support. (Which was probably unnecessary, realistically) 

But who hadn't heard of the  _ Olympics _ , of all things? “How have you gotten by all these years?! I didn’t know there was a person alive who didn’t know what the Olympics were!”

Feli, who was looking genuinely uncomfortable by now, anxiously avoided his gaze. “I wasn’t raised around _Muggles_ , so it _wasn’t_ exactly common knowledge!”

Otto (instantly realizing he’d been an insensitive Dummkopf. Stupid. Stupid.) stopped in his tracks. “Oh...Sorry, I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ . You’re...not stupid or anything, don’t worry I just--”

He cleared his throat, smiling apologetically. “Considering how much Gil talks about sports back home, I guess I just assumed that most  _ everyone  _ knew about them. I guess. I...was wrong. What I was trying to say was, it’s a bit funny. Odd, I guess.”

Noting the sudden reappearance of Feli’s slightly panicked expression, he amended: “N-Not that it’s a bad thing, by any means! I-In fact, there’s probably  _ boatloads _ of Wizarding sports that  _ I’ve  _ never heard of!”

“There’s...Quidditch?”

“Kwidditch? With a K-W?”

“No no no! With a Q, hah!”

Otto scooped up the robe, carrying both that and Feli’s Muggle clothing to the register. “What do you  _ do _ during Quidditch, though? Ditch the quid?” he asked (giddily noting that Feli rolled their eyes at the deliberate pun), pulling out his coinpurse.

“I’m not  _ entirely _ sure where the name came from,” Feli admitted, allowing Otto to push their coinpurse back into their hands as he pulled out a purse of his own. “Now that I  _ think _ about it, there’s a good chance it originated in Britain, but for the most part, the game consists of what my fratello would call ‘a buncha idiots screaming on broomsticks that score points while we hit them mercilessly with flying balls’.”

Otto wrinkled his nose, placing the wrapped parcel of clothing in his backpack. “Sounds...rather vulgar, actually. They do this in front of crowds?”

(It took them a second to register that Otto’s mind was currently swimming in the gutter.)

Feli, mortified, jumped backwards slightly, nearly tripping over their own feet. Having made sure they’d properly steadied themself on the counter, Feli let out a peal of laughter, wiping the residual tears from their eyes. “This is the part where I  _ wholeheartedly  _ assure you that it’s  _ not _ whatever it is that  _ you  _ were thinking. Just--” they wrinkled their nose “eww!”

Otto colored up, biting back a giggle. (Masking it behind the sputtering noises of a dying motor. Smooth.)

“So, where to next?” Otto asked, diverting the subject. (He made sure to face away from Feli so that they couldn’t see his stupid, bright red, blushing face.) The two walked aimlessly down the packed road.

The pair (with Feli consulting the map and Otto consulting the list) decided to head to Flourish and Blotts.

“Then...without your ‘fratello-isms’ to muck things up, what exactly  _ is  _ Quidditch?” he asked, holding open the door to Flourish and Blotts for Feli to enter. “Also,  _ broomsticks _ ? As in,” he pantomimed...something, swaying back and forth with something imaginary clasped in his hands.

“I have...no idea what you’re doing, but  _ yes _ , those kinds of broomsticks. Of course, they’ve been specially made and charmed, but you get the general idea.”

“So I take it you don’t sweep with them, then?”

(Was  _ that _ what he was doing?)

“No, they fly,” Feli explained patiently, running their fingers on the bindings of a row of books, list in one hand. “They’re for riding, like Muggle cars or trains.”

“Oh, okay. So how does the actual game work? It’s in the air, I take it?”

“I’ve never cared much for the sport,” Feli admitted, pulling a copy of  _ Magical Drafts and Potions _ off of the shelf and tucking it under their arm. “It was always more of my brother’s game, but unlike you I suppose, I never played. As a result, I don’t know much more than the bare minimum.”

He murmured an “Ah” in understanding, his eyes drifting to the rows upon rows of cluttered books, somehow already beginning to be picked clean by the waves of students that arrived in Diagon Alley even a full month before the year started.

Otto strolled, leaving his newfound friend behind amidst the stacks of textbooks, preferring instead to peruse the rest of the selection.

His fingers absently stroked the bindings (ranging in age from newly-printed to positively  _ ancient _ ) on a shelf.  _ Harry Potter: A Biography _ ? _ The Illuminate Redcap Agenda _ ?  _ Witch Weekly’s Salacious Soups _ ?  _ 72 Uses for Flobberworms _ ? On what grounds did Flourish and Blotts even  _ arrange _ their books? He didn’t even know what  _ section  _ he was in!

Hopelessly confusing.

His mind began to wander as he picked up the dregs of a nearby conversation:

“I still don’t see why we need to  _ carry _ these books, Ford.”

“Aw, hush. Don’t complain about it too much, it’s annoying.”

The first man glared at the second (Ford?), but otherwise sauntered past Otto, a tall pile of various books cradled in his arms.

“They’re still annoying. I mean, these are  _ Muggle _ books, after all! ‘On the Origin of Species’? ‘Animal Farm’? How boring does  _ that _ sound! Who would  _ willingly _ read something so mindless?”

“Probably someone with a mind, Stanley,” Ford noted dryly, setting his load of books onto the ground, and cleared the space for shelving them. “Not  _ everybody’s  _ reading level restricts them to the Lockhart books, after all.”

Otto tried to to stare (or giggle, for that matter) as the man named Stanley reddened, turning to his task with renewed focus and vigor. His own attention wandered as he resolved to quit his eavesdropping and find a non-awkward way to exit the conversation (that he wasn’t even a part of, no less!)

Feli gave him a good excuse as they rounded the corner. “Otto!” they said, running up to him, two equally-sized stacks of textbooks stowed under each arm. “There you are! I found all the books!”

“Oh, thanks!” he replied, gratefully accepting them as the two soon-to-be students headed towards the register, where Otto (despite their  _ third _ bout of protests) insisted on paying for the two. It felt good, being the generous one for a change.

They strolled down the street, when upon realizing that neither of them had eaten anything since breakfast for the duration of the day, they resolved to stop for lunch at a nearby cafe. 

“Have you ever had British food before?” Feli asked, flipping through the menu with a creased brow. “I don’t know what’s good...”

“I’ve had just a little bit,” Otto admitted, closing his menu. “I’ve been to a pub once or twice, in addition to the Leaky Cauldron.”

“What were some of the options?”

“Mostly?” Otto asked rhetorically, cracking a smile. “Soup.”

Feli giggled a little bit, nervously scanning the menu again. “H-How do you...get the food...?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but...have you never been to a restaurant before?”

They shook their head nervously, blushing. Feli folded their arms, leaning back in their chair. “We’ve only ever eaten at home...I was never important enough to bring to fancy dinners, or anything...”

Rather than suffer a repeat of the catastrophe from earlier, Otto waved over the waiter, nervously sliding him a few Galleons (Those were the gold ones, right?) as a preemptive tip. 

“It’s okay, it’s not that hard,” Otto told Feli, squeezing their shoulder as he walked over to their side of the table. “Let’s see, you’re over for our drink orders, right?” he asked the waiter, who nodded in response. “In that case, I’d like a soda, please. Do you have Diet Coke?”

The waiter's eyes lit up a bit, in stark contrast from the austere façade of bored professionalism he had displayed a few moments earlier.  “Ordinarily, I'd say no, but sir, you're in luck! We started carrying a few Muggle-style beverages as of last week. Personally, it's a wonder we didn't do it _ sooner; _  we Wizarding folk have been missing out, that's for sure.” He cleared his throat, composing himself.

(Professionalism  _ was _ important, Otto supposed.)

“Not only do we carry ‘Diet Coke’, but we also carry Irn Bru, Coca Cola, a homebrewed iced tea, and freshly-squeezed lemonade,” the waiter recited, a floating quill and pad noting Otto’s order. “Will that be all?”

“So, which of those sounds the best to you, Feli?” Otto asked, nudging his new friend. In a sudden motion, they laid down their menu, scrambling for words like fishing with one’s bare hands. 

“T-The lemonade sounds nice!”

“Thank you, I’ll be out in just a bit to take your order.”

Feli let out a breath, watching the waiter retreat inside to the kitchen area.

“What should I get for lunch?”

“I don’t think it really matters,” Otto replied uncertainly, closing his menu. “To be honest, I think it’d probably be for the best if we each tried something new. Actually, we could even get two random dishes and split them! We  _ are  _ both new to this cuisine, after all!”

“Sounds like a great idea!”

After a moment of deliberation, they randomly decided on a meal. 

Feli pulled a small, oblong and oddly flat piece of plastic from their bag. (“Roma gave this to me! It points to a random item on a list so you don’t have to choose yourself!”) With a hearty (perhaps overly so) toss of the wrist, the die bounced off the table and skittered down the street as if pulled by an unseen hand. 

* * *

 

Their waiter watched as they scurried off after it, and hovered awkwardly for several minutes, wondering if the two kids were ever coming back.

Eventually they did, though only after chasing the die out of view, and presumably, down the street.

Stupid prank toys. He didn’t understand what kids saw in them. All they were was a hassle, after all.

“Are you two ready to order?”

* * *

 

Twelve minutes later, although worn out from fruitlessly chasing the die down the street, (How could a magic piece of plastic be faster than two  _ entire human beings _ ?!) they managed to return to their table in after a more-or-less timely fashion, resolving instead to retrieve the dice after their meal. Or never. Never worked too.

“That was a  _ bad _ idea,” Feli moaned as they removed their shoe, dumping water into a nearby bush. “I think Roma might’ve gotten that die hexed to prank me or something...”

“I suddenly don’t like your brother,” Otto agreed, resting his head on the table in an attempt to quell the pulse throbbing in his head.

“Believe me, neither do I,” they agreed, accepting their drink from the waiter’s tray with a smile. 

“Why?” he asked, curious.

“Oh, he’s not very likable. He acts like a two-year-old around basically everybody, and he’s really mean to people, especially those he doesn't know. And he's stubborn. Bull stubborn. Worse, sometimes.

“Sounds charming,” Otto noted dryly, taking a sip of soda. “He and  _ my _ brother would get on just fine, by the sound of it.”

“Yeah...” Feli agreed, awkwardly, drifting off. (Right, it was probably really weird talking about people they’d never met. It was clearly time to change conversation tactic.)

“Is it common for Wizarding bookstores to carry Muggle books?”

The question seemed to take to take Feli by surprise, and for a second the waiter joined them in the awkward silence, Quick Quotes Quill and floating notepad at the ready as he waited to take their orders.

As he left, Feli rested their head on their interlaced fingers. “What do you mean by that?”

“Back at Flourish and Blotts, there was an employee complaining about stocking a few Muggle books. Personally, I think it was just...complaining, but from what I heard, it wasn’t a super common phenomenon.”

“I’ve never heard about  _ any  _ Wizarding shop stocking those in Italy,” they replied, “It must be just in Magical Britain. A pretty  _ recent _ announcement, by the sound of it, too.” 

“So wizards don’t read Muggle books often, I take it?” Otto said slowly, choosing his words with the utmost caution.

“Not really, no.”

“But...Muggle literature is  _ fascinating _ ! It’s super important for history and science and culture and  _ everything _ !”

“I don’t see what you mean,” Feli replied slowly. “I mean, Wizards  _ do _ have our  _ own  _ culture to be concerned with, after all.”

“That doesn’t mean Muggle culture  _ isn’t  _ important!” he pressed.

“I still don’t agree,” they said, taking a long drink of lemonade through their straw. “How could Wizarding culture  _ possibly  _ need Muggles? We’ve spent most of our time  _ away _ from them!” They paused. “And even when we haven't, they've caused us  _ nothing _ but trouble.”

Excitement flooded Otto as he came to realize that he now had an opening for his point.

“You really think they’re  _ that _ separate?” he asked incredulously. “Why?”

Feli thought for a second, the gears in their brain turning visibly as they knit their eyebrows.

“It’s just...why  _ would  _ Wizards need Muggles? We’ve made a habit of  _ avoiding _ them, for the most part, y’know?”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t  _ need _ us,” Otto pressed.

“I don’t see it that way.”

“We live in the same world,” Otto pointed out, his own forehead creasing in discomfort. “Why  _ wouldn’t _ we need each other in our histories?”

They looked down, muttering something under their breath, their expression darkened considerably. Otto’s heart flipped upside-down, two quick spikes of fear shooting through him. Could that be...a hex?!

But no. He seemed fine. It was...silly of him to assume. Silly and insensitive.

“W-What was that?” he asked, heart racing despite himself. He hoped his voice hadn’t cracked during the statement. It probably had.

“You didn’t exactly give us a good  _ reason _ to integrate Muggles into our history!” Feli huffed, hands balling into fists in what Otto sensed was an exceptionally  _ rare _ display of anger. “Considering how whenever we  _ have _ , all it’s earned us is  _ extermination _ !”

Otto jumped back in surprise, mouth opening and closing dumbly as he grasped for the words to say, the words to diffuse the situation, the words to get them to  _ calm down _ . 

“Even when we  _ haven’t _ integrated ourselves, we lived _ in constant fear _ of the stake-toting Muggles? This doesn't even  _ address _ the fact that we Italians come from the  _ beating heart _ of Catholicism! I can't even go  _ outside _ , Otto! How am I supposed to  _ celebrate _ that?”

The air around them didn’t do so much as quiver.

“You don’t, I guess,” Otto breathed, shocked. “Feli, I...I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way, I--”

They shook their head. “It’s fine. No, really, it’s fine. Roma says I cry too much, anyway.” Feli tried to give a lighthearted smile. They lifted their head, looking him in the eye. Tears filled theirs. “I’m sorry.” 

A stray tear rolled off their nose, dropping into their empty glass of lemonade.

The two of them sat in an awkward silence for a solid minute, each refusing to look the other in the eye.

It persisted for an awful, pregnant period of time that not even the wind (which was blowing in earnest by now) could truly diffuse. Each party stubbornly refused to be the one to blink first, and yet, wished that the other would just  _ say something _ already. They sat in silence, the noises of Diagon Alley continuing uncaring around them, oblivious to the hot tears that were beginning to dam up behind Feli’s eyelids, squeezed shut.

It took the double-doors to the inside of the cafe’s shuttering open and closed to puncture the tense atmosphere.

“Order eighty, the honey-rosemary lamb sandwich, extra honey mustard, and the bacon-basil-tomato sandwich with a side of caprese salad,” the waiter recited with such fluency and speed that even Otto, moping as he was, had to admit it was at least a  _ bit  _ impressive.

He laid the platter of food on the table, and the two kids hesitantly moved each of their plates off, scooting them close.

Feli (how did they banish the tears so quickly?) looked at their waiter gratefully, smiling earnestly. 

He bowed politely in return, laying a bill in place of the platter, neatly folded again under the crook of his arm. “That will be two Galleons, eleven Sickles, and twenty-seven Knuts. Will that be all?”

Feli shook their head, drawing out not only two, but  _ five  _ Galleons for the waiter. “I think we’re good here, for right now. You can keep the change, by the way.”

The waiter smiled, accepted the payment, and walked back into the restaurant.

Otto looked down at his food, realizing that his appetite was  _ seriously _ burnt out by this point in the conversation. Why did he even  _ get _ a sandwich? He’d never even  _ had  _ lamb before. It was all in the name of trying something new, but...was that really the smartest thing to try right now? Nothing could--

Feli slid over to him half of their sandwich, smiling sheepishly. “I thought this could serve as a white flag,” they said, blushing. “We  _ were _ originally going to split our sandwiches, remember?”

Otto accepted the offering, grateful for an excuse to avoid yet  _ another _ pout-filled meal. He returned the favor, sliding half of his lamb sandwich back over to his friend. Otto took a bite of it, (It was really good!) chewing methodically.

“So I take it we’re just gonna kinda...ignore the past five minutes?” Otto said, mouth full of sandwich. (In light of all that had happened, it was probably a good idea to be direct about this. Just this once.)

Somehow, Feli still found the energy to laugh, despite everything. They nodded, grinning widely. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Gotcha.”

#    
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the next chapter ends! These two just can't catch a break, can they?
> 
> Stay tuned! Next time we'll see more of Romano and Gilbert.
> 
> When I write, I keep track of all the scenes I omit from the published draft. So, if you'd like to read the deleted scenes for this chapter, (in this case, a scene that's a bit too overemotional on Feli's part, and another history debate between the two that got just a bit too in-depth) leave a non-anon review and I'll get them to you asap. (Please make sure to have PMs enabled, if you want the outtake!)
> 
> Feel free to leave a review on your way out!


End file.
